


How Strange is that Clinging Love We Have Even in the Excess of Misery

by Xerphena



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Daisy is mentioned a lot in this work, Jon and Martin cannot properly communicate, Literary References & Allusions, M/M, Post-Episode: 160 The Eye Opens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-17 21:55:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21950308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xerphena/pseuds/Xerphena
Summary: Humans know that the avatars exist. Jon and Martin must find a way to change the world from the way it is, but first they must protect themselves and blend in.Written as a gift for hauntinggraveyards.tumblr.com for the 2019 The Magnus Archives Secret Snickerdoodle Gift Exchange (https://tma-secret-snickerdoodle.tumblr.com/).
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 2
Kudos: 52





	How Strange is that Clinging Love We Have Even in the Excess of Misery

How can one describe instinct? Jon knows that Daisy would find such a question equal parts bothersome and redundant. One does not describe instinct. One experiences it somewhere deep within their gut. It writhed there, pulling at nerves with the care of an ornery corsetier. Why do they burrow into one’s psyche and take hold with such a ferocity that there is no escape from their firm grasp except to let it pull you along a path of adrenaline.

Jon is the archivist, and Jon knows that the rest of humanity knows it too. Like a piece of knowledge triggered by a familiar word. They would recognize him as the thing that he is by sight alone. A bile would rise in their throats and one emotion would clamber to the surface from the sea of senseless fear: hatred. Maybe it's the hunt that gave them such insight; for What makes Jon so special that he cannot be prey? Perhaps it was The Eye. His secret role in all that had happened exposed to the world. He certainly felt observed.

Jon sighs and rolls his shoulders. He feels some tension leave his body, and he breathes a sigh of relief. He looks over to Martin who pours over all notes they had made. A fog comprised of wispy tendrils of fear hangs over Martin like a shroud. The mark of the Lonely. Jon knows that humans will be able to sense it on Martin too.

Jon considers the ceiling of Daisy’s bunker. There’s a crack in it. A thin little thing with numerous branching paths. He wondered how far into the ceiling it reached. If it is merely a surface blemish, or if it spread deeper into the drywall like an infection weakening the whole. He tries to follow it with his eyes, but each path seems to blend into one another, and Jon feels himself getting lost in the pattern. He turns his eyes away but starts as a water droplet hits his face. He reaches up and brushes it away with his fingers.

Martin turns to look at Jon. He watches as Jon brings his fingers up to the droplet and brushes it off his face. Martin takes a sigh now too, and a small almost-smile graces his face. His attention quickly returns to his notes, and the pair once again begin to do their own thing. 

An hour or more passes. Time in this new world is hard to comprehend. Jon thinks it an effect of the Distortion; Martin disagrees, he thinks it an effect of the Vast. Neither of them could decide whether it was pathetic that a debate on the exact nature of their terror borne torturer was one of mirth—all things considered. Martin turns to Jon. Martin recognizes the weariness that weighs down on Jon. He notices the bags under Jon’s eyes. Ever-present as they were, Martin notes they are deeper than before, as if someone had smeared ink beneath Jon’s eyes.

“Jon,” Martin mumbles to himself, but Jon hears the whispered word, or rather he hopes that it was his ears that heard it—not something else.

"Yes, Martin.” Jon’s voice is soft when he speaks.

Martin regards Jon who is not looking at him. “We can’t stay here, you know. Daisy never meant for this place to be lived in. Long term, anyways.”

“No,” Jon chuckles humourlessly and finally looks to Martin. “We would find it difficult to live long term without a stove.”

“Or a kettle. I’ve missed tea,” Martin groans. Jon nods, and they laugh together for a moment. “I found a note I took while working with Peter. It talks about some kind of meeting many of the avatars hold. I think Peter mentioned it once, or maybe—Simon? Not Elias—er Magnus—whatever. Not _him_ for sure.”

Jon stands and walks over to Martin who imperceptibly flinches on his approach. Jon notices and does not get any closer. “Do the notes say where they hold this meeting?” He tries to make his voice calm, but like the placid river, danger still roils underneath.

Martin takes a breath and purposely scoots closer to Jon. The movement brings them closer by barely ten centimeters. “Uh, Somewhere north? Maybe Norway or Sweden? The notes aren’t exactly clear, but well, it can’t really be much worse up there. Right?”

Jon smiles tightly. “I hope not. I’m going to start packing then.”

“Oh, right yeah. Let’s do that.”

Packing does not take long. Neither of them brought much with them to begin with, and neither of them felt secure enough in the bunker to unpack their bags any more than strictly necessary. Jon gathers his small pile of statements and attempts to roughly shove them in a box. Something stops him from doing so, and he places them in the box with care. As he lifts the final statement, a book topples off the only table Daisy had within the bunker. The hardcover book was missing its sleeve and had yellowing warped pages. Jon picked it up so he could discern the title.

The title, _Frankenstein: The Modern Prometheus_ , mocks him in its irony. He snorts and flips through the text with a sort of idle curiosity. Daisy had clearly read the text before, numerous times in fact. Small notes in a strict uniform print were written in the margins. Jon wrinkles his nose at the notes; he had always hated people who wrote in books.

Jon’s eyes fall on an innocuous note in near the middle of the book, where the creature’s tale is recounted, _Victor refuses to love his creation, and all who see it fear it. It was doomed from the beginning._

Jon closes the book with a snap and slips it into his bag.

“Jon. I’m packed are you ready to go?” Martin stands near the doorway with a hand on the doorknob.

Jon read Frankenstein once, a long time ago. The finer details of the plot are lost to him, but the greater context of the work still remains, nestled in his mind. “Sight is our enemy, Martin.”

“Well, obviously, The Eye is kind of responsible for all of this.”

“No, I mean. Everyone else. They will fear u—me on sight. I know they will recognize me.” Jon says staring at Martin who nods and looks away.

“Alright. Then we need to get you a disguise right? Something to hide you from them.”

Jon shakes his head. “I don’t mean sight literally, Martin. I mean they will be able to sense it on me. Like a stench that just will not fade.”

“Then we stick to the back roads, and avoid the bigger city centers. We should definitely cover your eyes though. Maybe Daisy has a pair of sunglasses in here somewhere. Let me look.” Martin drops his bag and begins to rummage around some of the storage boxes Daisy had left tucked in the corner. While Martin looks for a way to protect Jon, Jon hopes that his presence will be enough to hid the fog of loneliness which hangs over Martin, but he has no way to be sure.

Martin gives a small cheer as he pulls a set of bans from a box. He blows. the dust off. Jon reaches forward to take the glasses, but Martin ignores Jon’s hands and places the glasses on Jon’s face with a gentle motion.

“Thank you Martin,” Jon says simply.

Martin picks his bag back up and slings it over his shoulder. “Its dusk. Let’s head out and hope that the darkness may conceal you as well. The Dark and the Eye never got along well did they?”

“Not particularly, no.”

“And hey, maybe my interaction with Peter will grant us some kind of Lonely powers, and we will go largely unnoticed.” Martin says this in such a manner that one would say a joke, and Jon does his best to hide just how much the statement guts him.

The sun peaks over the horizon as Jon and Martin step through the threshold of an inn somewhere north of Perth. They feel relief at the sudden lessening of such an intense feeling of being observed. The lobby of the inn has a few scattering patrons and an innkeeper who eye them with weary suspicion as they approach the front desk.

Martin does his best to flash the inn keep a friendly smile. “Could we get a room please?”

“How long?” The inn keep has a gruff voice which immediately grates on Jon’s nerves.

“Just the one night I think.”

As the interaction continues, Jon watches the people around him. A few of them are watching him and Martin intently. Jon feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. His mind flashes through all of the various possibilities of what could happen. He imagines one of the patrons, filled with terror of the slaughter, smashing a beer bottle on the counter and lunging. He imagines someone breaking into his room while he sleeps and hunting him like sleeping prey. He imagines all of the patrons consumed by a hunger of the flesh setting upon them like rabid mongrels. He imagines himself and leaving Martin to fend for himself.

He imagines Martin fading as he is left completely, and utterly alone.

“Jon. We have our room key lets head upstairs.” Martin’s voice knocks Jon out of his thoughts. Jon nods, and they quickly leave the lobby and ascend the staircase. Jon is certain that there are eyes on him until he is completely up the stairs. Even beyond that, he is not certain whether or not he is being watched. He never is anymore.

Martin unlocks the door. The room is quaint with two small beds which Jon smirks at. The colour palette is an appealing brown and orange. He wishes that he could feel more comfortable here than he currently does. He surveys around the room, and his eyes land on a wardrobe.

“Martin.”

“Yeah Jon? Are you okay?” Martin places a hand on Jon’s upper arm.

“Yes, I am fine. Could we just move the bureau in front of the door?” Jon asks not looking Martin directly in the eye.

“Sure, but why?”

Jon thinks back to the other patrons in the bar, and the poignant fear of leaving Martin alone. He looks at Martin and the worry on his face. “Well, if we put the dresser in front of the door, then we can not accidentally walk through one of the distortion’s doors.” The lie sits heavy on his tongue and tastes of ash.

Martin smiles softly. “Good idea, Jon.” Jon knows he didn’t manage to fully fool Martin, but neither of them mention it. They are content with this.

Jon settles into bed and feels Martin settle down beside him. He reaches into his bag and retrieves Daisy’s copy of _Frankenstein_. He flips it open to the first page and begins to read. He can feel Martin reading over his shoulder and reads slower. He does not know how long they sit there and read together. Daisy’s notes line the pages, and he always takes a moment to read her notes.

As he flips to the subtitle page for volume two he finds that Daisy has written a comparatively large note, as her notes were typically only a sentence in length:

_Martin mentioned liking Keats’ poetry. I’ve never been one for poetry myself, but I decided to read some. Found this ~~paragraph~~ STANZA interesting: _

_Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget_

_What thou among the leaves hast never known,_

_The weariness, the fever, and the fret_

_Here, where men sit and hear each other groan;_

_Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs,_

_Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;_

_Where but to think is to be full of sorrow_

_And leaden-eyed despairs_

Jon gently closes the book.

“We should sleep,” Martin says.

“Alright.” Jon places on the bedside table. He casts a quick glance at the door and then settles down beside Martin to sleep for the night. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope that you enjoyed my gift, and I loved the experience of creating gifts for an exchange such as this!


End file.
